Four Years Later (One Week Girlfriend #4)(40)
Author: Monica Murphy

I hate to break it to her, but that’s the last thing I want to do. And who knows what my life will be like two years from now? Things could change. Dramatically.

“He admires you a lot,” I say, wanting Fable to know just how much she means to Owen. I assume she realizes it but it must feel good to hear it, too. “You and your husband. He says the two of you pretty much raised him.”

“We did—well, mostly during his teen years, but those are the worst, right?” Fable smiles. “Owen and Drew became super close despite Owen’s initial distrust of him. But Owen hardly trusts anyone, so that’s normal. Now they’re so close; it’s sweet. Drew’s like the big brother Owen never had.”

“Don’t tell me you’re talking about me.”

At the sound of his deep voice, I turn to find Owen standing above us, a smile on his face and a shopping bag clutched in his hand. I return his smile, my heart flipping over itself when he settles into the empty seat beside me, his shoulder brushing against mine.

“You know it,” Fable says, a wicked grin on her face. “I’m telling Chelsea all about your bad habits.”

“Gimme a break.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m perfect.” Grinning, he sets the bag in my lap. “I got you a present.”

“What?” I’m shocked yet pleased. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” he says simply, nodding toward the bag. “Open it.”

I peek inside and then pull out a thick, white hooded pullover sweatshirt with the 49ers emblem on the front. It’s soft and warm, a little oversized, and I clutch it close, my gaze snagging on the price tag, eyes widening when I see the price.

Holy crap, it was expensive.

“I love it,” I tell him, touched that he would think of me and want to buy me a gift. “Thank you.”

“Put it on. Show your 49er spirit.” He takes the sweatshirt from me and tears off the price tag with a firm tug.

I shrug off the pale gray cardigan I’m wearing and take the new sweatshirt from Owen, then slip it on. It’s bulky and thick, cozy and soft, and I slip my hands into the front pocket, practically hugging myself. “How does it look?”

“Good. Real good.” The heat in Owen’s gaze momentarily steals my breath and I give him a stern look, tipping my head to the side toward his sister.

The last thing I need is him wanting to attack me in front of Fable. How embarrassing.

“You two are so cute.” Fable sighs and shakes her head. “Just friends, my ass.”

Owen says nothing and neither do I. Where did she hear we were just friends? Is that what Owen told her? We’ve not declared ourselves in any sort of relationship, but I did figure we were headed that way.

I definitely wouldn’t describe us as “just friends.”

The words bother me the rest of the game. Through the entire second half, though I put on a brave and happy face when the 49ers win. I chat with Fable but I can feel myself withdrawing, folding into myself. She knows a lot of people in the skybox—it’s filled with other players’ wives and girlfriends, and they all want to talk to the star quarterback’s wife. She matters; she’s important.

I don’t matter. I’m not important. I’m just Owen’s friend.

Trying my best to muster up being in a good mood, I meet Drew after the game and he’s just … dazzling. Gorgeous and friendly and so incredibly sweet to his wife; clearly he loves her madly. I can see his respect and affection for Owen; the three of them are close.

But not me. I’m not close to Owen. I’m just his friend.

So stupid, how I can’t let this go, but … it devastates me. What did I expect, though? We’ve only known each other for a few weeks. I’ve never been a believer in insta-love, though Kari certainly has been. She’s still chasing after that stupid Brad, yet he acts like he doesn’t want to give her the time of day.

Owen always acts like he wants to give me the time of day, yet we’re just friends.

Argh. If I could smack myself in the face and knock some sense into my head, I so would. I’m like a broken record. The iTunes playlist put on repeat. Again and again the words rattle around in my brain, pulse through my blood.

Just friends. Just. Friends.

Maybe I need to embrace those words. Remember them. Maybe that’s all we really are. At least, according to Owen. I need to prepare myself. He’ll leave me eventually. Move on, because that’s what he does. He’s never had a steady girlfriend; he’s admitted that to me more than once. So what am I doing, setting myself up to fail with Owen?

I need to harden my heart. Not let him in.

But I’m afraid it’s too late. He’s already so in, there’s no way I can get him out anytime soon.

And I don’t want to, either.

CHAPTER 13

Owen

Something happened. And somehow, I ruined everything.

The weather is shit. It’s like the skies closed up special for the game and the minute it was over, the clouds parted, opened up and dumped enough water to flood the entire stadium. Getting out of the parking lot was less of a nightmare for us than for the regular folks, since we got to park in the special team lot, but still, it took awhile. And I flat-out couldn’t resist when Drew asked us to go out to dinner with them.

Chelsea had agreed readily, but she was quiet the entire meal. I have no idea if I pissed her off and I wasn’t about to ask her in front of Fable and Drew, so I tried my best to include her in the conversation. But she wasn’t having it. Not that she was rude, but she’d sort of withdrawn into herself, remaining quiet as she sat by my side. Fable noticed. She asked Chelsea if she was feeling all right, and Chels confessed she had a headache and that she was tired, but she’d be fine.

That was Fable’s cue to give me a sharp look that told me point blank I needed to take care of her. I promised I would, sending her an equally pointed look back that she should stay out of my business, but I think it went undetected.

Typical.

We’d already finished dinner and Drew looked exhausted, his arm slung along the back of Fable’s chair, his fingers twirling the ends of her hair. I watched them, trying to see them from Chelsea’s perspective, wondering what she might think as she spent time with them. Seeing them with fresh eyes, especially with a girl I’d like to make mine sitting next to me, I’d never been so aware of the easy, affectionate way between them until now.

The love between them is like a living, breathing thing. They look at each other and you feel it. They touch each other and you see it. When I was younger—hell, six months ago—I always thought the two of them were ridiculously sappy together. Like, over-the-top in love. When we’d first all moved in together, I’d been embarrassed to catch them in each other’s arms, kissing. They’d never done anything inappropriate around me, but I guess their open affection for each other just never felt that comfortable for me to see.